Boundaries
by Brissi
Summary: Zhivana Dragomir knows awkward. There's the time she peed on Santa when she was five and the time she fell asleep in her soup at a banquet. But nothing beats the fact that she's bound. To her mother. Vana gets all the stress and insanity that comes with running a kingdom, and the only way to escape it is through unhealthy means. And the Strigoi are always watching and waiting.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

I sat on my mother's right hand, my long, gangly teen legs crossed in front of me and my hands rested in my lap. My fingers twisted in the orange fabric, because that was the only part of my body I could fidgit without drawing the attention of the entire courtroom. It was freezing here, but my mother had insisted on my wearing no sleeves. What was her thing against sleeves, anyway? I wondered which would be worse: having enormous goosebumps running up and down my arms, or rubbing them to warm them up. I didn't have a chance to decide. The doors at the back of the courtroom burst open with unnatural force, slamming against the walls with a crack like a gunshot, and before I could even jump in alarm, figures flooded in through the now open doors. I couldn't breathe as I looked at them and took in their appearances. Deathly pale skin, fangs bared fearsomely, horrid red rings around their cold, lifeless eyes.

"Strigoi!"

Whoever had screamed aloud was soon lost in the panic that ensued. The entire courtroom burst into a mob of chaos, but all I could do was sit rigid in my chair as the Strigoi tore into the panicked royals. I watched as Melina Ivashkov was thrown against the wall and set upon by three Strigoi, her screams soon cut off with a sickening gurgle. Joshua Tarus was shoved to the ground only a few feet from me and he struggled wildly until a pair of undead fangs pierced his neck. He instantly went limp as vampire endorphins flooded his system, and all I could do was watch in paralyzed horror. _Where were the guardians?_

And then they were there, as if summoned by my mental question. They dove fearlessly into the battle with stakes drawn, wading through the sea of death and doling out their own eternal sleep. A flash of white off to my left caught my eye and I glanced sideways as my mother rose from her throne, the crown resting on her head seeming out of place in this blood-stricken scene that had sprung up so quickly. Something flashed in her hand and I realized it was a stake, but not just any stake. It was spirit-charmed, something my mother herself sort of patented, and it could bring Strigoi back to their original form. Not only that, but it prevented them from ever becoming Strigoi again. She was instantly surrounded by her guard, who had remained on the stage to protect her against the attack, and they waded into the tumult, dealing out death wherever they went.

As I scanned the crowd of vampires, one Strigoi in particular caught my eye. It wasn't like he was special in any way; he wasn't oddly tall or short, abnormally thin or muscular. No, he was the kind of person who, if you saw him in a crowd, you wouldn't give him a second glance and you'd forget him in the very next instant. What drew my attention to him was the fact that he wasn't fighting. He was simply weaving his way through the heaving bodies, parrying any blow that came his way but not engaging in action combat. He was heading towards me. I could see it in the way his every move got him closer to the stage, the way his awful red eyes seemed locked on the stage- and me.

I flashed a panicked look around, but I was alone on the stage. All the royal guards were with my mother, protecting her while she sought out a Strigoi she could turn, and any other guardians had joined the fight. I was helpless, defenseless, and I was sitting here like a mouse under a hawk's gaze. No, scratch that, an eagle. I jumped to my feet and ran, but in the time it had taken me to realize I was the target, the Strigoi had reached the edge of the stage and, unimpeded by dhampirs and other Strigoi, he could move much faster. Still, I tried to get away, but I hadn't made it three strides before a freezing cold hand, even colder than the temperature of the room, yanked tight around my throat. I was crushed to a stone hard chest and immobilized before I could take a breath to scream.

And scream I did. A piercing, horrible, throat-rending scream born of pure terror and shock clawed its way past the hard arm pressing down on my windpipe, but a second later I couldn't even breathe, let alone scream. My head was yanked roughly to the side and fingers gentle as the brush of a leaf yet cold as ice brushed down my neck, making me shiver violently. A low chuckle rumbled from behind me, but there was no humor in it.

"Why hello, little Dragomir," the Strigoi purred, still stroking my vulnerbale throat, his next meal. I trembled violently in his arms, but I didn't try to escape. I knew I couldn't. "Now, now, don't be frightened. It won't hurt much at all. Just a little bite, and then you'll be in ecstacy."

"N-No," I choked past his arm, my shaking adding a stutter to my speech. The Strigoi laughed again.

"Poor little Dragomir," he laughed humorlessly. "You don't get a choice. You'll be one of us soon enough."

"What?!"

I hadn't seen this coming. I'd expected him to kill me, maybe snap my neck, but never this. I couldn't be a Strigoi. I drove my elbow backwards in the Strigoi's gut, but I only earned myself a painful squeeze at my throat, and I swear I thought he would crush my windpipe. But he didn't.

"You have no choice," the Strigoi snarled, his falsely sweet voice gone like my hope. A horrifed cry sounded off to my left, and I managed to crane my head enough to see my mother struggled through the crowd towards me. It was somewhat easier, because the guardians were in battle mode now and they were slaughtering their opponents easily. But she wouldn't reach me in time. I met her eyes and she knew it, but she kept going, that awful look of hopelessness and ferocity in her bright blue eyes.

And with that he bit into my neck. I cried out briefly at the pain, but soon the Strigoi endorphins, much more powerful than my own, flooded my bloodstream and I fell limp against the Strigoi, lost in a fantasy high. At first it was bliss, but he kept drinking. And drinking and drinking and drinking. He wasn't going to stop, but I didn't want him to. I wanted this high to last forever, just me and the bliss of his bite. Suddenly the high ended, and I was ripped away from the Strigoi and thrown to the side. I stumbled and tried pathetically to catch my balance, but I ended up hitting the ground hard, my skull smacking the floor. Still groggy from the endorphins, it was a struggle to even raise my head, but I managed it and saw my mother and a hoarde of guardians attacking the Strigoi, who's mouth was still stained red with my blood. My body wanted to shiver, but my brain was still numb, so I lay there propped up on my elbows, my head lolling whenever I forgot to support it.

Then there were footfalls behind me and then I was being lifted and my head was grasped in stony hands. I think the worst part was that when I felt the ice-cold of those hands, poised to kill me as they were, all I could think of was the bite. There was a sharp twist and a snap in my neck that I felt deep inside myself, and then nothing. For a little while, anyway.


	2. Chapter 1

I stood leaning against the wall of the Gate B4, my arms crossed defiantly and my chin tipped up as I stared down the guardian that was standing in front of me, somehow unruffled and still looking professional despite the dressing down I'd just given him. Honestly I'm surprised he hadn't melted into a puddle of incompetent, but I guess guardians have got to be good at something. I itched to pull out my phone and check the time, but that would mean breaking eye contact and since I was the one who had started this impromptu staring contest, I wasn't about to lose it. I couldn't even check to see how long we'd been standing here having this stupid argument. I huffed angrily and shifted my position on the wall so my left leg got a turn bearing my weight while my right leg rested. The guardian's expression remained neutral, which pissed me off even further. I was seconds away from setting his fancy black jacket on fire, when he finally shifted and glanced away for the briefest heartbeat. I win.

"I don't like sending you all alone on a plane that could have Strigoi lying in wait in the baggage compartment," he said, his voice low and steady like his expression. I snorted and rolled my eyes, letting him know just what I thought of that.

"I'll sit by the window," I said mockingly.

"What if your flight gets delayed and it gets dark while your still on board or in the airport?" he asked, raising an eyebrow like he didn't expect me to have a comeback for that one. He'd played his trump card. Tough for him, I always have a comeback. This one happened to involve spontaneous combustion and the small metal trash can behind the desk nearby. The screams of the desk assistant alerted the guardian that something was wrong and he whipped around, hand going into his coat like he expected Strigoi to come bursting out of nowhere into broad daylight. Honestly, there _was_ a huge window like right next to us. I extinguished the fire immediately, leaving nothing behind but the subtle smell of smoke in the air. Not a mark on the trash can, or on the carpet. While the desk assistant phoned someone in charge to tell them all about how her trash can had just miraculously caught on fire without leaving a mark, the guardian turned back to face me looking angry and, if I wasn't mistaken, the tiniest bit amused.

"You know you can't do that around humans," he hissed, although the intensity of his voice had gone down a notch or two. I could sense I was gaining ground, so I plowed ahead.

"It'll certainly creat a hell of a crowd for the Strigoi to get through," I countered with a smirk. "Plus the fact that it'll be the Strigoi on fire. That can be mighty distracting."

A voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing that flight 321 was now boarding. My flight. I pushed off the wall like that was the end of it and grabbed the handles of my carry-on bag, but the guardian took it from me. I growled low in my throat and reached to take it back, but he gave me a cool look and headed for the door, which had just been opened by the desk assistant.

"I'm just carrying it to the door, Khivana," he said, and I stiffened at the sound of my full name. But I followed him, not willing to start another argument over whether or not I could carry my own bags. At least he wasn't getting on the plane with me anymore. What was it Rose always said? You've got to choose your battles? Yeah, that was it. Well this one wasn't worth my time and energy, so I left it alone and made my own way to the door, digging my ticket out of my pocket for the lady to scan. The guardian reached the door ahead of me and I joined him in line, tapping my fingers impatiently against my leg as ticket lady scanned as slow as she possibly could. When I finally stepped forward and handed her my ticket, she took it and scanned it, pausing a second to look at her computer- I don't know, to make sure I wasn't a terrorist? Anyway, she waved me through and I took my bag from the guardian. He stepped back and waved as I walked through the door, but he didn't get a response.

I don't know what they call the long hallway thing they pull up to the side of the plane, but whatever it's called it was long. Like really long. Like a full five minutes out of my life that I could have spent doing something useful. I got to the end and I swear if I could have grown a beard if I'd been a guy in the time it took to get there. Okay, it wasn't actually that long at all, but my impatient self wasn't buying it. I stepped over that tiny crack in between the plane and the hallway thing, feeling like I was leaping over the Grand Canyon or something, and shot the flight attendant a glare when she welcomed me to the flight.

And while we're on the topic of planes, why is an airport called a terminal? Really reassuring, when you're about to trust these people with your life. Just some food for thought.

I turned down the aisle of the plane, which was one of those with two seats on one side and three on the other and you were pretty much not drinking anything the entire flight if you got the third window seat next to a stranger. I didn't have to go far because mother dearest had gotten me first class seats. I was a far enough distance from the lavatory to not have to bear the smell, but at the same time I wasn't at the complete other end of first class. Pretty much the best seats in the entire plane. Well, they didn't make my mother queen for nothing. I tossed my bag onto the seat by the window- I'd gotten the two-seat side- and flopped down in the aisle seat, letting out a sigh of relief. Finally some peace and quiet. Honestly, those guardians didn't know what personal space and privacy are.

The next few minutes were spent on my phone, firing off texts to my friends that I was on my way, playing Candy Crush, and checking my Twitter feed. I got a few responses from my friends saying they'd already arrived and what was taking so long, to which I replied 'Gotta fly all the way from Penn. And the guardians were being.. guardians. :/' The pilot was just coming over the intercom to ask us to 'Please put on our seatbelts, blah, blah, blah' when someone stopped just outside my row and stood there expectantly. I ignored them. Next came a subtle throat-clearing, following by a not-so-subtle one.

"Um, do you mind if I sit here?"

"Yes," I answered, not looking up from my phone.

"Well, this is my seat, so…"

"Go find another one."

"There's none left," came the response. I heaved a sigh and looked up, ready to tell this guy off, but I paused when my eyes reached his face.

Damn, he was hot. That much was evident, even at first glance. He had tanned olive skin that most Moroi would kill for and a toned body that retained its leanness despite the obvious muscle lining his frame. He was tall for a human, taller than I was even with my Moroi genes, but he didn't loom like some people did. He had an easy stance that seemed alert and relaxed at the same time, probably aquired through sports, and let's not mention how straight up sexy his abs were, visible under his tight, black t-shirt with some band depicted on the front. My eyes traveled up his body to reach his face, and I think my jaw might have dropped _just_ a little. He had the most amazing, blazing emerald eyes that seemed to pour life out into the air, electrifying and livid. They were almost as good as a bite, just watching them and knowing they were watching me. His eyes were framed by long, dark lashes that looked like they could be sensitive if they wanted, but not now. Now they looked slightly impatient and intrigued at the same time as they studied me. His mouth turned up slightly at the edges like he was used to smiling and right now they wore a cocky grin. His hair completed the package: it was the kind of hair that you could roll out of bed with and still look amazing. It was made to be messy, and that's how he wore it, styled carefully to look natural and wind-swept. Like I said, damn.

It must have shown on my face, because he laughed and it was like I was looking at some ancient god of love or beauty. Was there was a god of ultimate hotness? Because I think he just got on the plane and was standing asking me to move over.

"Take your time," he teased, and that tiny, goodnatured jab snapped me back into myself. I wasn't known to be taken by good looks, despite my long list of boyfriends. They were just adventures, all fun and games, placeholders until I met something worth keeping. I leaned back in my seat, my jet black eyes meeting his electric green ones, and raised an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me what to do," I said with a haughty tone, although it didn't come naturally. "I'll take however long I want." Normally I'd rather gargle rusty nails than talk like some stuck up, proper royal, but today I was feeling particularly stuck up and proper. Or maybe it was just him. Whoever he was, he gave me a long look and shifted his bag higher up on his shoulder.

"This bag is actually really heavy, and I don't want to stand here all day," he said coolly, catching on to my standoffish attitude. I didn't move.

"You said take my time," I returned, crossing my legs and tipping my chin up. He met my gaze fearlessly, and shifted his weight onto his other leg.

"And you said not to tell you what to do."

My eyes widened infinitismally and my mouth quirked in a smile, but I didn't drop my gaze, staring him down until he looked away uncomfortably. My smile grew and I shrugged.

"Well played," I said, and reached over to grab my bag from the window seat. "But you have to put this in the overhead compartment for me first."

The guy moaned dramatically and accepted my bag with his free hand, dropped his own bag onto the floor so he could open the compartment and shove my bag inside. He had to use both his hands to hoist his black duffel bag over his head, and it just barely fit inside the compartment, an enormous heave necessary to get the door closed. While he'd been putting our bags up, I had scooted over to the window seat and when he snapped the compartment closed he flopped into the aisle seat, the scent of his cologne washing over me in a wave. Focus, I commanded myself, and turned to gaze out the window at the open runway. My reflection stared back at me, dark, black eyes lined with heavy makeup and lashes a midnight black like my hair. My lips, naturally dark, were coated in crimson lipstick a lot like the blood I drank.

With a sudden lurch, the plane's engines roared and it pulled away from the gate, piloting across the smooth tarmac to take its place on the runway behind five other planes, varying in size. I sighed; looks like its going to be a long wait. I tossed my hair over my shoulder, the tips hitting right below my shoulderblades, and leaned back in my seat to get comfortable. The guy beside me chose now to start making conversation.

"So what's your name?" he asked, twisting in his seat to face me.

I hesitated a moment before responding, not sure if I wanted this guy to know who I was, but in the end I decided it wouldn't hurt anything to have some random human hottie knowing my name.

"Zhivana," I said, grimacing as my full name rolled off my tongue. "But most people call me Vana. _If_ I like you," I added, giving him a meanful look that said he wasn't there yet. He laughed and dug around in his jeans pocket for a second, pulling out a slightly squashed pack of gum.

"I'm Nicolai," he responded, opening the pack and pulling out a piece. "But everyone calls me Nick, even people I don't like."

He unwrapped the gum and popped it into his mouth, then held the pack out to me.

"Want a piece? It helps with the popping in your ears when you take off."

I raised my eyebrows; I'd never heard that, and I'd been through plenty of takeoffs, but I accepted the pack and pulled out a piece before handing it back. I unwrapped it and stuck it in my mouth, the peppermint hitting my tongue like a bomb. I had to bite my tongue to keep from coughing and I rapidly blinked away tears that had welled up in my eyes.

"Tasty," I managed, still blinking away tears. He chuckled and stuck the gum back in his pocket.

"Yeah, it does kind of pack a punch, doesn't it?" he said, although he seemed inaffected by it.

"A punch? It's like the vodka of all gums," I spluttered, drawing a hearty laugh out of him, a laugh that tickled something in the back of my mind, and he ran a hand through his gorgeous hair.

"I guess I'm used to it," he said, then gave me a look. "Although I'm concerned that you know what vodka tastes like. You don't_ look_ twenty-one to me."

"I age well," I said drily.

Nick opened his mouth to answer me, but just then the plane lurched forward onto the runway, firing its engines like a racehorse at the starting gate. I leaned forward to stare out the window and the plane began to move, slowly at first. But it quickly accelerated and the field flashed by too fast for my eyes to follow, and I leaned back, the speed at which we moved gluing my back to the plush fabric. My ears began to pop, but with each chew and swallow of the gum, it cleared away and I had to admit that the gum did help. There was a stutter as the plane lingered between land and air, and then the ground peeled away, taking my stomach with it.

I remained pressed against the seat while the plane ascended, trying to calm my slight fear of heights. It wasn't so bad once we got up above the cloud layer, but while the ground was still close by and yet so far away, I was having trouble breathing. I reached out and jerked the shade down over the window, plunging the seat and Nick's into a murky shadow. Not being able to see the ground helped and I gradually relaxed, manically chewing the gum in my mouth as if my life depended on it. I realized Nick was watching me with concern as I slowly unmelded myself from the back of my seat, and I shot him a glare.

"Take your time," I snapped, throwing his words right back at him, except I wielded them as a weapon while he'd merely been poking fun. He flinched and blushed lightly, embarrassed to be caught staring, but he didn't look away.

"You don't like heights?" he asked, although it sounded more like a statement to me. I scoffed and tossed my hair.

"Of course not," I denied, trying for devil-may-care air and failing miserably. Probably because my hands were still wrapped, white-knuckled, around the armrests. But that's beside the point.

"There's nothing bad about being afraid of heights," he said.

"I'm not afraid of heights," I returned, forcing my hands to unclench and putting them in my lap.

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not!"

Silence. We both stared at each other, me with a hot fiery glare on my face and him just watching coolly, unfazed by my anger. Again I held his gaze, determined to stare him down and let him know just who was boss here. But this time he didn't look away. He returned my stare with an almost amused expression, like a grownup playing along with a child's antics. I stiffened and if possible my glare got hotter; I _hated_ being treated like a child. And apparently my glare wasn't the only thing that was getting hotter, because I could suddenly smell a hint of smoke on the air, and I jumped, my gaze flashing around the row to find the source of the smoke. I realized it was coming from me, and I bit back an annoyed sigh. God, I hated when I did that. Sometimes, when I got really, really mad, I accidentally tapped into my power and started smoking, which was really unfortunate when you happened to be in public or at a fancy banquet. Or on a plane, for that matter. Luckily it didn't seem like any of the passengers had noticed a thing, probably because I'd caught it so early. I leaned back in my seat and glanced back over at Nick, was still staring.

"What?" I snapped, but I tried to reel in my temper to avoid any more smoke incidents. And the fact that Nick had just beaten me at my own game, even though I'd almost set something on fire, wasn't exactly helping.

"Nothing," Nick said, and the all-to-knowing smile on his face sent alarm bells ringing in my head. And something about that smile… I'd seen it before. Not often, because vampires at the Court didn't have to hide their fangs when they talked or smiled, but we'd been taught at school how to act whenever we were amongst humans. My eyes widened and my lips parted in surprise.

"You're Moroi."


	3. Chapter 2

Nick literally threw his head back and laughed while I glared grumpily at him, arms crossed. I waited for him to shut up, but when he continued to chuckle once the initial explosion had ended, I huffed in irritation and snapped around to stare murderously at the shade over the window. It was probably three minutes before he finally stopped laughing and leaned back against his seat, but I didn't turn back to face him. There was a long minute of silence as he waited, I assumed, for me to turn around and forgive him. The sound of the plane engines and the general sounds of humans filled my ears, creating a lulling hum that I found infuriating. But then, everything was infuriating me right now. I'd never realized before how boring staring at a wall can be, but I suppose I should have seeing how many meetings, banquets, and parties (and not the fun kind) I'd been forced into. Just then, a flash of extreme happiness pulsed through my body, overloading my brain with thoughts of rainbows and shit like that, and for a moment my only thought was, _How did I get high? _I realized what was happening too late and just like that the plane disappeared, and I was sitting at the head of an ornate wooden table. Official-looking Moroi in suits, both men and women, sat on either side of me, all of them bent over thick packets of paper, scribbling away their signatures. I surveyed them all with a deep sense of accomplishment and pride, excited that I had finally swayed the council. Rose was going to be so happy when I told her, and so were all the other guardians, for that matter. One by one the Moroi straightened and passed their packets down to me, and once I had them all collected I rose, the white fold of my dress billowing around my knees. They all stood quickly and watched me.

"Meeting dismissed," I said quickly, wanting to get this announced as soon as possible. I shuffled the papers into one neat stack while the Council members proceeded out of the room. Once they were gone I allowed an unprofessional grin spread across my face and I hugged the papers to my chest as if someone would come and tear them away from me. I hurried from the room and down the hall, heading for my suite. I rounded the corner at a near run and ran smack into a tall, incredibly sexy man whom I would like nothing more than to kiss until I ran out of air.

"You're in a hurry," he laughed, catching me in his arms before I tumbled to the floor. I regained my balance quickly and stepped back, laughing with him.

"Christi-"

_Oh, shit._

I made a tremendous effort to rip myself free of my mother's thoughts and, more importantly, her feelings, but her happiness kept me trapped in her mind. My- no, Mom's hand reached up to stroke my Dad's arm and a flood of longing flooded my brain. God, I wanted that man.

_Oh, hell no!_

I threw up my walls with all the strength I could muster and tried to ground myself in my own body, remembering how my hands felt and how my hair fell against my back. I managed to distance myself a little more and I thought I could feel my fingertips, _my_ fingertips, again. I focused on that and with one more shove I pushed myself back into my body, which was still sitting rigidly on the plane, facing the window. It took all my willpower not to curl up into a fetal position and cry. _Oh. My. God. _I just stroked my Dad's arm. And I'd fucking liked it! Again, I wanted to put my head in my hands and moan, but I couldn't not with all these people around and especially not with Nick staring at my back. I bolted suddenly to my feet and practically dove into the aisle, barely catching myself on the seat across from me. I didn't look back and hurried up the aisle to the bathroom, hoping and praying it was open. I threw the door open and slammed the lock home, shutting out any prying eyes. And then I threw up.

Once I was done I rolled off my knees (which I had fallen to) and sat with my back against the wall facing the door. Not the most sanitary thing in the world, but I didn't exactly care. My mouth tasted awful and I knew the taste would stay with me for the rest of the day. I ran a hand through my hair and groaned.

"My life is so fucked up," I murmured, letting my eyes flutter shut. I could feel a headache beginning to form behind my eyes and groaned again.

A banging on the door jolted me from my daze and I opened my eyes. There was a pause during which I got gingerly to my feet, using the sink as support, and then whoever was outside banged on the door again, harder this time. I kicked back and turned to the toilet, which was spattered with my breakfast and some blood, probably from my snack last night. I stared in dismay; how was I supposed to clean this mess up?! I surveyed the tiny space and grabbed a handful of paper towels, mopping up whatever hadn't made it into the toilet. The person waiting outside knocked again and shouted through the door, confirming my suspicions that it was a guy, but I ignored him. I flushed the toilet and turned to face the mirror, surveying my face for any signs of my breakdown. After dabbing at the corners of my mouth and reapplying my eyeliner, I was satisfied, although I looked much more tired than when I'd gotten up this morning. I stared at myself for a second, taking in the heavy black makeup around my eyes and studs going through my lip and eyebrow. I tried for a smirk, but I just looked lifeless. Then the guy outside practically took a battering ram to the door and I whipped around to kick it viciously.

"Piss off!" I snapped and slammed my palm against the door. I was seriously considering setting this guy on fire, but that would use up the oxygen in the cabin and kill me too. Otherwise, I would have. I surveyed my black leather boots for damage and stood around for another minute or so, just to make the guy outside mad. But eventually I got bored and slid the lock back, shoving it open in hopes of catching the man in the face, but he had, luckily for him, stepped back away from the door. I smiled sweetly at him, flipped him off, and strode off down the aisle, shouting, "Asshole," over my shoulder. I took a deep breath as I approached my seat to steel my nerves and to erase the rather disturbing scene I'd witnessed between my mother and father. Nick looked up as I came to a stop outside our row.

"You alright?" he asked, and I glared.

"None of your business," I huffed and forced my way past his legs, which he had strategically placed to block my way. I flopped down into my seat and resumed my rigid pose.

"Sorry I laughed at you," Nick said from behind me. I glanced back suspiciously, but he looked sincere so I let myself fall back against my seat.

"It wasn't that obvious," I defended, but my tone was subdued. "Most Moroi aren't as dark as you are."

"It's from my mom," Nick explained, sounding cautious. "She's from India."

"Oh. Cool."

"Yeah."

Awkward silence.

"Um, so where's your Dad from?" I asked, and I was actually curious. Nick went to give me 'duh' look, but then stopped and looked away.

"Russia," he said. "Belsky, by the way. Nicolai Belsky."

I nodded.

"Dragomir."

"I know."

I frowned at him and he held his hands up as if in defense.

"Calm down, you're the daughter of a queen. Of course I'm gonna know what you look like, vaguely, at least."

I bit my lip and glanced down at my hands, which were fidgeting in my lap. Of course, I knew I was famous. Or infamous. For one thing, I was the resurrected daughter of a spirit-using queen. I was also a 'party girl', for lack of a better term. Drugs, drinking, partying til midnight and beyond. The whole nine yards. And my final claim to fame: I was a bite addict. Just thinking about it I wanted to throw myself on Nick and beg for him to bite me and drink until I was dizzy. Only years of therapy and a shred of self-respect held me in place. My fingers fluttered nervously in my lap as my body yearned for the Strigoi endorphins I could never give it. The best I could do was a drunk Moroi at a party or, if I got lucky, a guy who would bite me without the influence of alcohol or testosterone. Because I wasn't about to add blood whore to my list. I had to draw my lines somewhere. To distract myself, I dug my nails into my wrist, the pain jerking me free of my body's craving.

Nick was giving me a strange look, and I realized I had been silent for a while now. I jumped and a blush rose unbidden to my cheeks. I released my wrist, leaving deep imprints in my skin, and ran my hands down my legs, the course feel of denim somehow soothing me. Nick opened his mouth as if to ask me a question, then shut it. He went to turn away, then rotated back to face me and opened his mouth again. He hesitated like that and I raised an eyebrow. Nick pursed his lips and gave a loud sigh, shaking his head.

"You're hard to talk to," he finally said, but I knew that wasn't what he'd wanted to say. I frowned and was about to ask him when he continued.

"Yeah, like that," he said, gesturing at my face. "I say the wrong thing and you get all offended. It's like talking to a rattlesnake."

I made an effort to smooth my face out and I'm pretty sure all I accomplished was a dumb, blank stare rather than a calm, composed mask.

"I won't get offended," I said, and even I realized how monotonous I sounded. God, was irritation the only tone I had? Nick smile/grimaced and shook his head.

"It's not important," he said, and I groaned.

"Now it's gonna kill me all day," I complained, and I gave a mental cheer when Nick smiled. "Can't you give me a hint?"

Abruptly, Nick leaned across the arm rest, mouth coming at my face. For a moment I wanted to kiss him, and for another I wanted a bite. My whole body chanted bite, but my mind was softly murmuring kiss. Reality shouted neither. Nick's lips hovered by my ear like he was about to tell me a secret, and then he whispered, "No."

I made an indignant noise and pushed him back into his own seat, crossing my arms in a mock-pout.

"This is me pretending, just so you know," I stated, then reverted back to my frown. Nick smirked and turned to face the seat in front of him. I dropped my act and wriggled about a little to stretch what I could.

"Would you like something to eat?" a feminine voice asked from over my shoulder. I glanced back to see one of the flight attendants standing and waiting, the food cart behind her.

"Yeah, some water," I said, and looked over at Nick.

"I'll have the same thing," he said, and the lady handed us cheap plastic cups filled with water and ice.

"Just water?" I asked as the flight attendant tugged her cart up a row, looking over at Nick.

"I can't eat airplane food," he said with a grimace. I nodded in understanding.

"Me neither."

For a moment we both stared at each other, surprised we'd agreed on something, and then I giggled a bit. Then he chuckled. And then we were both laughing out loud, probably making a scene, but I didn't care. I blinked back tears so I didn't wreck my makeup and sipped at my water, trying to calm my giggles.

"I think that's the first time I've laughed without you getting all uppity," Nick pointed out, fishing an ice cube out of his water and popping it into his mouth. I stifled another giggle and smiled.

"Sign of the apocalypse," I quipped, playing with the edge of my cup.

We both sat there smiling like idiots, and I took a large drink of water to try and wash away the gross taste in my mouth from my episode in the bathroom. It helped a little, but not much.

"Can I have another piece of vodka gum?" I asked. Nick chuckled and dug out his pack. He pulled out a piece and offered it to me.

"Last piece," he said as I took it. "Chew it well."


End file.
